


Jealousy's Not a Good Look on You, Brother

by flyy0ufools



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, jealous!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyy0ufools/pseuds/flyy0ufools
Summary: I usedthis postas a prompt:I need more jealous!Sam pining over Dean who only goes out with other people because he thinks he can’t have Sam.





	Jealousy's Not a Good Look on You, Brother

Sam has to admit that two years is a long time (even for him) to go without sex. But that’s how long it’s been, two years ago with Piper outside that crap roadhouse that Dean disappeared into on their way to fight the...ghoulpires, or whatever Dean nicknamed them. Sam decided to head to an all-night diner to research, but he ended up talking quite a bit with his waitress so he took her back to Dean’s car to fuck her. It was partly because he hadn’t had sex in a really long time (since Amelia, maybe?) and he couldn’t deny it was also partly a “fuck you” to his older brother.

Even better was when Dean walked in on them (as much as you can walk in on someone in a car). Sam certainly wasn’t expecting that, but he was secretly pleased when it happened, wanting to see Dean’s honest reaction. So he was disappointed when all Dean did was look over his shoulder into the back seat and give Sam a wicked grin and a fake apology.

What Sam didn’t notice—because he was tired and a little sexed out and a lot grumpy because Dean didn’t seem to care—was how his brother lingered just a little too long, something no other guy would do if he caught his younger brother post-coital; Sam also didn’t notice how, when Dean finally got out of the car to give them some time to get dressed, he moved back a step to peer through the window into the back seat, lingering there also.

Then, just months later Dean half stumbled into the kitchen the morning after Valentine’s Day. Sam didn’t even have to ask where Dean had been; he could see it on Dean’s face, on his  _neck_ , and he could smell it radiating off him, sex and latex and probably come. Sam wanted to vomit, because he could almost  _feel_  the girl on Dean, whoever she’d been...it overwhelmed his senses and his emotions, and it made his cheeks flush with jealousy and his heart clench in sadness. Because Sam knew that Dean would never walk into their kitchen with a hickey on his neck and his eyes still blown wide with lust and the smell of  _Sam_ on him.

Over the next year, it just got worse. After Dean walked fearlessly to what was supposed to be certain death, after Sam was shot and kidnapped and tortured by the now-dead British Men of Letters (good riddance), Sam never got a hug. No “thank god you’re not dead, Dean” hug, no “fuck, Sammy, I came back and you were missing and it scared the hell out of me” hug, no “mom’s back, what the hell do we do?” hug, no “I’m so sorry you were tortured  _again_ ” hug...nope. Nothing.

And Sam knows that his brother hooks up with more girls than he’s aware of; hell, they aren’t connected at the hip, contrary to what some people think. But the thing is...Dean is pretty blatant about getting some ass even when Sam is sitting  _right there_. But it’s not Dean’s fault, Sam has to remind himself, because what kind of sick person is in love with his brother? Not Dean, that’s for sure, so why shouldn’t he hit on the waitress (why is it always a waitress?) right in front of Sam?

The thing is, Sam can feel his jealous building, finally close to boiling over. He’s spent two decades—since he was old enough to know what love and sex were all about—pushing down this  _thing_ inside of him. It doesn’t feel inherently evil, it just  _wants_ , it wants so badly that sometimes it physically hurts Sam, and Sam can’t seem to do anything to pacify it, not even temporarily.

Being at Stanford and being with Jess was the closest he ever got, but he still woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and his heart racing. Or something random would remind him of Dean, but the memory would be so strong that he lost himself in it for days. Jess called it a funk; Sam called it his heart refusing to let go of Dean completely, even if it killed him.

And after Crowley died and Cas died and their mom (and Lucifer) got stuck in that parallel world or whatever...what does Dean go and do just two days later? Drives to a diner just outside of town to pick up another waitress. Maybe Sam is a little surprised, but mostly he’s just fucking  _pissed_. So, against his better judgment and all logic and reasoning, he follows Dean.

Sam’s been sitting in the stolen car for a little less than an hour when Dean walks out, waitress in tow. They’re not holding hands, but she is bumping her shoulder into his side every so often like she’s trying to get him to touch her more. His hands are stuck firmly in his pockets, though, and even from the distance across the parking lot, Sam can tell by the expression on his brother’s face that Dean is strangely tense.

Deciding that there’s no time like the present, Sam steps out of the car and calls out to his brother.

“Dean!” There’s more anger in his voice than Sam intended, and Dean looks up and to the side, immediately locating the voice.

“Sam? What’s...are you okay?” Dean’s concerned, and he shakes off the redhead (who’s now looking extremely annoyed) and hurries over to where Sam is, one leg still in the car, the other foot on the pavement, and holding tightly to the top of the car to hide his shaking.

“I’m fine,” he growls, and wow, he doesn’t think he’s ever heard his voice sound like that. “What the hell are you doing?” he demands, and Dean lifts an eyebrow, daring Sam to continue. Sam ignores it. “You just...just  _leave_ , without even telling me, all because you want an easy lay?!”

“Hey!” the girl says from behind Dean.

“Sorry, darlin’, but he’s coming with me,” Sam tells her. “Better luck next time.” The girl huffs and storms off, and Dean’s looking at Sam with an unreadable expression. “Get in the car, now.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Dean snarls, but he gets in the car anyway.

“You!  _You’re_  my problem, you asshole!”

“What the fuck did I ever do?” Dean yells.

“Nothing! You did absolutely fucking nothing, and I waited twenty years! For NOTHING!” Sam screams back.

“Sam, calm down and explain what the  _hell_  you’re talking about!” Sam doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at his brother, just stares straight ahead out the windshield, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles start to turn white. Dean gives it two minutes, and when Sam still refuses to talk to or even look at him, he snaps.

“Fine! I can’t help you if you won’t even tell me what the fuck is wrong, Sam! I’m outta here.” He opens the door and steps out, then slams it closed hard enough that the whole car rattles.

A minute later, Sam finally turns to the passenger seat but his brother’s already gone. Instead of walking back towards the diner, Dean darts across the street and disappears into a bar. Sam spends a good ten or more minutes hyperventilating, because in the Winchester household, anything is better than crying, even if that anything is a panic attack.

Sam is still pissed, but if he lets it all out then he knows he’ll cry, and if he cries now, when he goes into the bar later he knows he either won’t be able to get out what he needs to say or the conversation will turn all mushy and emotional, and Dean never seems to take those “chick flick moments” seriously.

And Sam  _will go_  into that bar after his brother. He’s fed up with this shit, and even though this shit is all of his own making, he needs...something. A yes or no, a definitive and final answer. Closure. He might not ever be able to move on (because how many times has he tried that and what is his success rate?), but at least he can stop getting his hopes up, stop daydreaming about what it would be like if Dean actually returned his feelings.

Sam gives himself half an hour to try to calm down, to wipe his face off and fix his hair a little before he unfolds his limbs out of the car and turns in the direction of the bar. It takes just a few long strides, a quick jog across the street in between the occasional car, and a sharp tug at the heavy wooden door until he’s inside.

It’s close to empty inside the bar; only one bartender is working and there are six other people sitting at tables or at the bar top. He scans the room for Dean, expecting to find him with a girl or two hanging off him, but instead he sees a guy practically sitting in Dean’s lap.

 _What the fuck?_ It takes Sam all of three seconds to stride across the room to the far end of the bar.

“ _What the fuck?_ ” Sam snaps at the back of Dean’s head. Dean jerks around, surprise and fury clearly evident on his face.

“What are doing here? I thought I made it pretty clear that I didn’t want to be around you right now,” Dean snaps back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam hisses.

“Havin’ a drink, obviously,” Dean answers casually, then eyes the guy who inched off of Dean’s lap and is now sitting firmly in his own bar stool, though there’s still barely any space between their bodies. “And enjoying some good... _conversation_ ,” Dean smirks and the other guy winks suggestively back at Dean. “What’s it to you, Sam?”

“Well, for starters, you’re straight.”

“Meh,” Dean shrugs. “That’s debatable.”

“You’ve, uh, been with other guys?” Sam is shocked. He thought he knew almost everything about his brother and yet...

“Sam,” Dean sighs wearily, “no, but—look, that’s not really your business, is it?” Sam sputters, but when he sees the other guy’s hand land on Dean’s leg and work its way up his thigh, Sam’s vision goes red.

“Yes, it is my fucking business!”

“You wish!” Dean growls, and maybe it’s supposed to be a warning telling Sam to back off, but Sam takes it as a challenge instead. He always has been a little too competitive, and when it comes to Dean, Sam would fight anyone and anything to the death. Dean is  _his_.

“You’re right, Dean,” Sam says lowly, then turns to the guy who’s been watching this entire exchange with wide eyes. “Dean’s mine, asshole,” he whispers dangerously. 

Sam grabs the front of Dean’s jacket in both hands and yanks him up off the stool and straight into a kiss. It’s rough, a kiss meant to claim, not to pleasure. When Sam finally pulls back, he echoes his words, still in a whisper but this one full of promise and hope. 

“You’re mine, Dean.” Dean blinks, obviously stunned. Sam offers a slight smile then drags Dean to the back hallway and into the one-person restroom, shutting the door and locking it before turning back to his brother.

Sam jumps, startled at how close Dean is. He’s standing so they’re not touching, but they’re so close that the air between them must only be a few molecules thick.

“Jealousy's not a good look on you, brother,” Dean murmurs, then launches himself at Sam, pushing Sam back against the door and practically crawling up his body. Sam wraps his hands around Dean’s thighs to lift him up completely, then spins them around so the door is at Dean’s back.

“You sure you didn’t like that?” Sam pants, rolling his hips against Dean’s. Dean whimpers.

“No, I...” Dean moans, unable to finish the sentence. “And I stand by what I said...jealousy isn’t a good look on you.” Sam pulls back in confusion but Dean’s grin is pure sex and sin. “It’s not good— _fuck, Sam_!” he yells out when Sam slides a hand down his pants. “Sam...god...it’s the... _fuck_...hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

“Let’s get outta here. Go back to the car, finally get rid of the memory of that little tryst you had with Piper,” Dean says absently.

“Wait...you were mad about that?” Sam asks, surprised.

“Dude...Sam, I wanted to throw her out of the car, roll down the windows, and make her watch as I claimed you for my own. Twice.”

“Fuck,” Sam grunts. “Fuck yes, let’s go.”


End file.
